


Icarus

by TheManicMagician



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Chronic Pain, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kaard is a reluctant wingman, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Linear Narrative, The Gaster/Jevil is noncon, This story assumes Gaster is the Knight, Toby Fox has given us no backstory so I'm making my own mmk, Tragedy, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Jevil has always wanted more.





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> “Never regret thy fall,  
> O Icarus of the fearless flight  
> For the greatest tragedy of them all  
> Is never to feel the burning light.”
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde

When he wakes again, Seam is there, watching. Not triumphant in his victory, as Jevil expected. Just tired.

There are thick bandages wound around Seam’s head and now-empty eye socket, more still peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Jevil’s body throbs dully with his own remnants of their battle. He knows if he looks he’ll find gouges on his stomach from Seam’s claws, bracelets of scars on his arms and legs where Seam’s strings had dug in like barbed wire.

They’re separated by a row of cell bars.

“You think something like this can contain me?” Jevil sneers.

Jevil tampers with his code, adjusts his strength output. But when he goes to pull the bars apart, the steel doesn’t budge an inch. He calls his scythe next. It bounces off the surface of a bar leaving nary a scratch.

“It’s hopeless,” Seam tells him. “The Knight enchanted the bars himself.”

“Liar! The Knight wouldn’t betray me.”

There’s something pained in Seam’s expression. “He was never on your side, Jevil.” He shows Jevil the key in his palm. “This is the only key. I’m going to scatter the pieces around the Dark World. It’ll be my last duty in service to the crown.”

He has to be lying. There must be another explanation. The Knight was the one who taught him everything—it makes no sense for him to turn around and punish Jevil for the freedom _he_ gave him.

Jevil presses his face up against the narrow space between two bars, spitting venom. “Sure you don’t want to stay on and hog the spotlight? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, to get me out of your way?”

He loathes the pitying look Seam affixes him with.

“I wish I could help you. But this is all I can do.”

Seam almost moves closer, in range of Jevil’s hands, but thinks better of it. He’s crying now, tears dripping slowly from his one remaining eye.

“This is goodbye, Jevil.”

He turns and begins the slow march up the stairs of the dungeon.

Jevil grasps two of the bars and shouts up to him: “Are you kidding? You can’t just leave me here! Seam!”

There’s a slam of a door, far off. It has a sound of finality to it.

Jevil rests his head against the cool metal of a bar.

“He’ll be back.”

~*~

“Jevil! Up, get up!”

Starwalker kicks his cot.

He doesn’t bother to turn around, or uncurl from his sleep position. His tail flicks out, smacking Starwalker in the eye.

“’m sleeping.”

“You’re _missing_ it. You need to see this guy. Hurry, before he finishes his act!”

Starwalker had joined the circus troupe two towns over, and had become Jevil’s bunkmate in his sleep tent for lack of space. Somehow, the greenhorn equated their mandatory proximity for friendship.

“So you go watch it.”

“No, you’ll want to see it! He’s as good as you!”

Now he’s awake. Jevil sits up so abruptly his head nearly collides with Starwalker’s.

“How so?”

Starwalker huffs. “Let’s go, and you’ll understand.”

Starwalker rushes out of their tent. Reluctantly, Jevil follows after.

Jevil doesn’t remember a life before Ringaling Circus. His earliest memories are of the fortune teller’s tent. Her musty perfume was thick and cloying in the air. She snuck him treats beneath the table between guests so he’d stay quiet during her sessions. Whenever she read doom in someone’s future, he’d poke their feet and giggle as they ran screaming from the tent.

The Ringaling Circus is the best in all the Dark World; Jevil was given training in every aspect of circus life from a young age, and soon excelled in acrobatics and juggling. Scythes are his hallmark. For his latest act, he balances atop a scythe on one toe as he juggles a collection of knives.

He is only eleven years old, as far as he can figure, and he’s the star of the show. Ringmaster Ringaling holds tryouts for new recruits at every town they tour, poaching new talent before the other troupes can. Several fresh acts have tried to match Jevil, have sneered at his youth and sought to knock him from the top. He’s bested them all.

Jevil weaves his way through the pitched tents, towards the small tryouts platform. He passes by posters of his own face, nailed onto wooden posts. He grimaces. His devilish grin as depicted on the yellowed poster has been marred since he lost one of his front teeth. The new one is growing in, but slowly, and his words whistle from his mouth in a way that’s embarrassing.

There’s an unexpectedly large crowd gathered to watch the wannabe performer’s show. Starwalker rocks on the balls of his feet, straining to see over the taller adults. Jevil shoves his way through to the front.

He gasps.

The darkner on the stage before him is…unspooled. That’s the only word for it. The purple cat has unwound the threads that connect his arms and legs to his torso. It shouldn’t be possible.

And yet.

The cat’s legs trot across the stage as if out for an everyday stroll. His hands shuffle cards elaborately.

The cat’s button eyes meet Jevil’s astonished gaze. He winks.

The cat’s torso twitches, and the gathered crowd gasps as his body pulls itself back together again in an instant. All together again, he bows.

The crowd applauds heartily, but Jevil scowls. The cat seems flustered by the attention, scratching the back of his head. A façade of humility. Surely.

“Excellent show, my boy.” Ringaling’s voice is warm as he climbs the stage to clasp the cat’s shoulder. Louder, he says, “Everyone welcome the newest member of our troupe: Seam!”

Seam is ushered on a tour of the camp by a clump of enthusiastic performers. Jevil watches the throng leave, then heads off to follow Ringaling.

The Ringmaster is back in his tent when he finds him. Fire magic burns under a chipped kettle as he rustles around the cluttered mess of his tent in search of a mug.

Ringaling glances his way as he steps inside, then returns to his searching.

“Jevil. I don’t suppose you see a tea cup anywhere in all of this, perchance?”

“Why?” Jevil asks.

“Hm?” Ringaling replies absently. “For the drinking of tea, of course. Ah—there you are.” He unearths two cups from a heap of velvety capes, and cradles them protectively to his chest. “Shy little things.”

“Why are you bothering with that—that cat?”

Ringaling smiles. “I saw the slack-jawed look on your face. You couldn’t figure out his trick, could you?”

“I—he’s—he’s clearly unpolished. Too muted in his attitude, too.” Jevil stammers.

“Are you volunteering to assist with his training, then?”

“No!”

The Ringmaster chuckles.

The tea kettle shrills. With an absent flick of his hand, Ringaling snuffs out the flame. He pours tea into two mugs, and hands one to Jevil. He takes a small, reluctant sip. Ringaling always plies him with disgusting black tea—no cream, no honey, no sugar—whenever he visits. He swears the darkner has no taste buds to speak of.

After a mouthful of tea, Ringaling says, “There’s no need to be jealous, Jevil. Yes, you may be sharing the spotlight, once he’s trained up more. But you know, Seam isn’t much older than you. You’ll be fast friends, I’m sure. I can see your magics working quite well together. So give him a chance, won’t you?”

Jevil chews the inside of his lip, and forces a smile.

“Yes, Ringmaster.”

~*~

Jevil understands what isolation can do to the mind, because he’s witnessed it for himself.

King Spade’s queen had been assassinated during their son’s fifth birthday. The killer threw himself over a balcony to escape, but broke his leg in the fall down and was subsequently captured. King Spade had been terrifying in his fury, and only the quick intervention of his chamberlain saved the assassin from becoming a smear on the courtyard tile. The killer—Pawner, his name was—was arrested and interrogated. They used him to track down the rest of the rebel movement, which was swiftly quashed. Pawner’s punishment for his treachery was not death, but a life of imprisonment.

Alone.

Once they squeezed him dry of information, Pawner was placed in a 6x6 foot cell. Thick white concrete, no windows. He was given a simple cot, with no sheets. A bucket for waste. His arms were bound in a straightjacket to keep him from harming himself, or trying to escape. Meals were pushed through a slot in the door twice a day.

At first, Pawner endured with a quiet dignity. It was a small price to pay for the success of his mission.

Then, all sense of time was robbed from him. The guards would leave the lights on for days. The habitual two meals a day were delivered at random hours, once even the second was given not fifteen minutes after the first. One of the guards confessed to Jevil that Pawner had tried to grab his wrist as he slid the food in, trying to feel the proof that others besides him still existed.

Pawner was found dead in his cell nearly two years into his stint in isolation. He’d drowned himself in his own waste. When they pulled his head from the bucket and hosed him off, there was a peaceful smile on his face.

~*~

“I have a son now.” King Spade explains, seated atop his throne, as if there isn’t a darkner in the entire Dark World that hasn’t been bombarded with the news of an heir since the queen’s first announcement of her pregnancy. “Prince Lancer will need to be entertained. Ringaling has recommended you both most highly for the position. After watching your performance tonight, I’ve made my decision.”

The king pauses, his gaze sweeping over both of them. Jevil keeps his tail pressed tight against the back of his leg, to keep it from lashing anxiously. A quick side glance at Seam confirms his friend isn’t doing much better than he is; he’s rigidly straight, and his ears are pinned flat to his head.

“You.”

King Spade points to Jevil.

“You are dismissed.”

Jevil blinks, his mind slow to catch up. The king surely can’t—he can’t mean—

Seam grabs his hand in a firm, grounding grip.

He bows slightly. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we’re a team. I won’t leave Jevil behind. So it’s—it’s either both of us. Or neither.”

Jevil’s gaze is drawn like a magnet to Seam. His friend meets the king’s eyes unflinchingly.

“If you’re alright splitting the pay, then it’s acceptable.” King Spade rumbles.

“Yes. That’s not a problem.” The salary offered is more than they’d make five years at the circus. Not to mention the sheer acclaim they’ll receive entertaining royalty is worth far more than money to them.

“Let it be done, then. Report here tomorrow, my chamberlain will get you sorted.” He dismisses them with an absent wave of his hand.

Once away from the throne room, Seam turns to Jevil, sheepish.

“That was okay, right? I didn’t even ask if you wanted to come along with me.”

Their hands are still clasped together. Seam lets go first, almost embarrassed.

“Please. You’d be useless without me around and you know it.” Jevil’s retort is shaky, lacking any bite.

If their situations were reversed, would Jevil have even _thought_ to challenge the king for the sake of their friendship?

He likes to think that he would. But he knows in his heart he’s never been as good a person as Seam. Too selfish, too greedy. A part of him would have taken satisfaction in being picked as the best, even though he would’ve missed Seam terribly.

He hates Seam for making him aware of who he really is.

~*~

Jevil takes time to explore. Past the bars, there isn’t much to see. This isn’t the castle dungeon, but some dark, secret place that no one will find by chance.

Beyond is the void. All encompassing. Just a black expanse with no end and no beginning.

He leaves the cell bars behind, walking forward in a straight line. No matter how far he walks, the cell bars get no further away. He tries walking to the left, to the right, even up and down. But the result remains the same.

Time passes as he waits, slumped against the cell bars, but no one ever descends the steps that lead down to his prison.

He’s trapped here, alone.

“Not alone,” A voice says.

“My Knight,” He breathes, approaching the figure. His body blends within the void; only his face is visible. “There must be some mistake. I’ve tried erasing the code for the bars, I’ve tried warping out. Nothing’s working.”

He expects answers and assurances. He’s confused by the Knight’s patronizing smile.

“But of course. He requested I keep you locked in here, and so I shall. You might have some knowledge of how this world really works, but I will always understand more.”

Seam hadn’t been lying, then. The Knight truly did betray him.

“Why? What did King Spade offer you to do this?”

“You misunderstand. The king wanted you dead. He thought you a potential threat to his son and himself. No, it was Seam who pleaded with both him and me, for the chance to spare your life. To seal it away instead of take it from you.”

“But why? I don’t understand. Why would you do this? I thought…” He thought he meant something to the Knight, as his devoted follower.

The Knight’s grin stretches wider.

“How could I not? It’s all so terribly ironic. To “save” you, he had to turn to the very same person who’d ruined you in the first place, because he was the only one who could. Oh, would that you could have seen the look on his face.”

A hand materializes, cupping Jevil’s cheek.

“He loves you so terribly, do you realize that? And you’ve thrown it away without a thought.”

“I didn’t!” Jevil protests. “I—I love Seam, too, it’s just…”

“It’s just that his love wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more. You’ve always wanted more. And so you followed me down into the dark.” The Knight laughs at him, cold and cruel. “Do you still think you made the right choice?”

~*~

Card Kingdom is divided into four territories, each ruled over by their respective monarchs. In the heart of the Dark World sits Card Castle. Every four years, the kings rotate who lives in the central castle, as whoever has residence is granted a veto power over the other kings regarding new bills and motions. This tradeoff of power has done wonders to keep the peace. Rather than kill darkners in pointless territory wars, as the kings of yore had, the modern kings just spend their four years in office doing their damndest to undo whatever it was the previous king in power had accomplished. Nothing ever really gets done, but it keeps the kings satisfied and they leave the public mostly alone, so most consider it a successful system of government.

King Spade is roughly a year and a half into his current term at Card Castle when the man abruptly appears in the throne room, right in the middle of a standard court session.

He’s not announced at the threshold, no; there’s a sharp crack of magic in the air, the overwhelming stench of sulfur, and suddenly the man is in the thick of the gathered nobility.

The nobles spring back in alarm. Jevil takes a step closer, but is held back from approaching as Seam shoots his arm out in front of his chest. Seam shakes his head.

The man’s body is covered in black. His face—or perhaps it’s a mask—is bright bone-white. Two jagged cracks splinter either side of his face. Six hands with holes in their palms float in a circle around his body.

“King Spade.” The man bows elegantly, right before two guards seize him. The hands clench into fists, briefly, then relax again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jevil sees Kaard usher Prince Lancer quickly out of the room.

King Spade descends from the throne, his footfalls heavy. He looms before the man, radiating royal authority, but the man doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

 “I come bearing wisdom. I know how you can escape the Dark World. How to take revenge upon the lightners that have trapped you here. Please, won’t you speak with me, O King?”

He has a curious, unfamiliar accent. Jevil has toured every corner of the Dark World, and he’s never heard anything like it. He’s still dwelling on the man’s entrance as well. Had that been a type of teleportation magic? He’ll need to see it again in action a few more times to accurately pin it down.

“Release him.”

The guards do so, but linger, should the stranger attempt an attack.

King Spade jerks his head to the meeting room adjoined to the throne room.

“Let us discuss this matter privately.”

One of the nobles squawks indignantly at that. “Your Majesty, you cannot seriously be considering listening to this man—”

The king silences him with a thunderous glare.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The man demurs.

He follows the king. He doesn’t walk, exactly, but rather, he seems to glide across the ground, his cloak billowing out behind him.

The man passes Seam and Jevil. Those dark eye sockets briefly flick Jevil’s way before they return forward.

The door shuts behind the king and the stranger with a soft click.

“I don’t like the look of him.” Seam mutters. “Sets my teeth on edge.”

But Jevil is staring at the closed door, wondering what secrets he’s not privy to.

“I want to meet him.”

Seam rolls his eyes. “Weird guy pops up in court somehow and wants the king to wage a war on the lightners. And you want to meet him. Of course you do.”

“He’s interesting.”

 “Well, then for your sake, let’s hope the king finds him interesting too and not just some nutjob. Otherwise that’s going to be the last we see of him.”

~*~

Days—Weeks?—into his captivity, he abruptly remembers: his phone.

Jevil digs the device out of his pocket, tapping buttons at random. The screen stays black. The battery’s dead.

That doesn’t matter. He can do—well, not _anything_ , not anymore—but he can tinker with the phone’s code, reset it to a recharged state. With some quick adjustments, the phone flickers to life again in his hands, fully charged.

He lets out a short, happy gasp. The home screen picture is of Seam, of course. Drooling on some historic and irreplaceable book from the castle library.

With shaking hands he pulls up his contact list. He taps Seam’s name, and presses the phone to his ear.

The device squeals static. Jevil jerks the phone away with a wince.

“No, no, no,” He murmurs. He returns to the edge of the cell. He holds the phone through the bars of his prison, hoping against hope that the signal will return if the phone is at least in the proper reality.

Still, there’s nothing but the buzz of static, and random garbled noise.

He tries several other numbers, just to see, but there’s no deviation. He and whatever possessions he has left have been truly cut off from his old reality.

But does he at least have…yes.

Jevil could cry. All the pictures he’d ever taken on his phone are still here. He embraces the brief reprieve, takes his time cycling through each and every photograph.

When he’s finished, he clicks through them all again.

~*~

“That’s _my_ cot!”

Seam pauses mid-groom, tongue still stuck to his forearm. Jevil is near-shaking with anger. Someone brought another cot into _Jevil’s_ tent for Seam, and to make matters even worse, the damned cat had elected to splay out on _his_ cot instead.

Seam’s tongue retracts. “Sorry. I mean, it’s not like they’re marked or anything.” He obligingly shuffles off the cot to claim the new one instead. “You must be Jevil. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He extends a paw for a handshake. Jevil ignores it.

“What you did before—that unravelling. How did you do it?” If Jevil can master the ability, then Ringaling won’t need to keep Seam. They can leave him here.

Seam drops his hand. Then, an infuriating grin grows on his face.

“My, you’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“…Well?” Jevil presses, when Seam lapses into silence.

“I’ve heard you’re something of a prodigy. If you’re so clever, why don’t you figure it out for yourself?”

Jevil gapes. No one’s ever flat-out denied him information before. Troupe members are normally so eager to share the basics, which Jevil swiftly masters and overcomes. He’s never seen magic like Seam’s before. He understands it’s some form of body modification magic, but nothing more. Learning how to replicate it, without so much as a hint to go on, will be difficult.

Seam just keeps smiling in that self-satisfied, confident way of his.

Well, fine. Jevil will figure it out. He’ll show Seam in front of everyone, will wipe that stupid smirk off the cat’s face permanently.

“I will.” Jevil vows.

 “Good.” Seam sounds doubtful.

“I _mean_ it.”

“No one else has managed. But you’re welcome to try.”

Jevil stalks out of the tent. He’s going to solve the riddle of Seam’s magic trick.

But first, he has to make a stop into the nearby forest. He’s filling Seam’s bedding with burrs tonight.

~*~

The _moment_ happens during a day like any other.

They’re performing a magic show together for the nobility. Jevil’s constructed a menagerie of circus animals from his magic, and Seam uses faint strings of yarn to tug life into them. The court watches in awed silence as the animals bounce and whirl their way around the room.

Seam and Jevil have worked together for years, so very long that Seam just need to quirk an eyebrow and Jevil’s magic moves to act on his silent command, launching the finale of their show with a herd of trumpeting pink elephants.

The crowd erupts in applause, and they take their bows. Jevil’s gaze meets his friend’s as they rise, and Seam’s warm smile makes something _weird_ flop in his chest. The curious squirming feeling doesn’t leave him, and it’s not until he’s staring up at his ceiling in bed that he finally recognizes it for what it is: affection. Deep, more-than-friendly-levels of affection. He has a crush. On _Seam_.

It’s not too strange, he supposes, once past his initial bout of panic. They’ve spent many years together already thanks to their work. Seam is also the only worthy rival he’s had. Others have tried to best him in games of wit and trickery, but Seam is the only one who’s ever successfully made a fool of a fool, and has seen through his illusions. It’s maddening, and enthralling. Lately he’s spent more and more time thinking up new illusions, not for the easily-satisfied court, but for Seam.

The question now, of course, is what to do about it. He doesn’t know who to go to—he only ever really spends time with Seam, after all—so somehow he finds himself picking the lock to a lowly trainee’s quarters in the wee hours of the morning.

“Zounds!” Rouxls scrambles upright in his bed, clutching his comforter to his chest. The pom pom on his night cap dangles distractingly in front of his nose. “What is thou doing in my roometh at—” He checks the alarm clock on his night stand. His voice climbs higher with indignance. “—3:42 in the morning?!”

“Kaard.” Jevil begins without preamble. He sits cross-legged in the air beside Rouxls’ bed, his tail keeping him propped up. “I require your assistance.”

Rouxls Kaard is an understudy of one of the crown puzzlemakers, and in addition he cashiers at a small shop in Card Castle for tourists. He’s dumb as a box of rocks as far as puzzles are concerned, but even Jevil has heard the whispers and giggles of the staff whenever Kaard flounces by. He has to know a thing or two about amorous relationships. (Besides, Jevil just likes messing with him.)

Jevil explains his dilemma. Kaard pinches the bridge of his nose, and says tiredly: “Why dost thou not just asketh him out on a date?”

Jevil scoffs. As _if_ it can be that simple. He can’t just march up to Seam and confess. If Seam says no, it’ll ruin what they have already. So Jevil has to stack the deck. If he proves himself worthy of Seam’s affections, if Seam is compelled to ask him, well. Then Seam can think the idea of dating was all his. It’ll be Jevil’s grandest trick yet.

~*~

There’s a lull in activity; the troupe has several hours yet before their evening performance. Jevil intends to make the most of the respite. He finds an area by the storage tents, where he can practice without anyone to observe.

Normally, he delights in training in front of a gathering of awed, envious performers. But Jevil has never attempted body manipulation magic before. He’s never thought of himself as the focus of his craft, just a conduit for the magic itself.

Many darkners are too afraid of body manipulation, as it runs the risk of causing real harm if done improperly. But Jevil is clever and determined and unafraid.

He squares his shoulders, closes his eyes, and concentrates. He can feel magic pulsing through him, buzzing at his extremities, but strongest at his core. Rather than push it outwards, as he’s accustomed to, he tries to draw it back inside him. He pictures Seam, unraveled on that stage. He opens his eyes again, and watches his first uncurl. He imagines his pinky finger unwinding, and shunts magic towards the digit.

Jevil sneezes, and sparks of magic shoot out his nose. His pinky remains totally intact.

He huffs, his tail thwacking against the dirt in irritation. Maybe it’s not a matter of size. It might be better if he focuses on disconnecting something at a joint, first. Jevil kicks out his leg in front of him, coaxing his magic to pop it off at the knee.

Wrong again. Thick magical pressure makes his head throb. Jevil groans, pressing a palm to his temple. His magic is trying to obey him, but he doesn’t have the finesse yet to target specific areas of his body. The magic builds up inside him, and then has nowhere to go. And that stupid cat made it look so _easy_.

It’ll just take practice and refinement, like anything else. What’s a small headache against the promise of glory?

Jevil is about to attempt shaking loose his tail when the nape of his neck prickles. He’s being watched. He whips around and scowls at the sight of Seam. He thinks at first the cat has come to mock him, but then he notices that Seam has the actual nerve to look worried for him. As if Jevil can’t handle some simple practice on his own.

“Piss off.”

“You shouldn’t be attempting body modification magic alone. It’s dangerous.”

“I told you I was going to figure it out.”

“Yeah, but.” Seam scuffs his foot, kicking up a small spray of dirt. “I didn’t think you’d actually…keep trying. Most people give up after the initial headaches, you know?”

Jevil bristles. “I said I was going to figure it out. I meant it.”

Seam falls silent again. Jevil turns his back to him. He won’t let the cat distract him. He concentrates again on his pinky finger, trying to make it spiral off the bone. His finger twitches up, just slightly, and with mounting excitement he throws more magic—

“You know,” Seam shatters his concentration. Jevil glowers at him. “It’s different for everybody. You’ve got to think of your own composition. We’re two different people. My body is cloth-based, while yours is flesh and bone. Thinking of your body unravelling like yarn won’t work for you.” Seam looks him up and down. “I feel like you’re the type where it needs some sort of bounce to it.”

Bounce? What does that even mean?

But Jevil nods confidently, like he completely understands Seam’s advice.

“…Thanks. I guess.” Jevil mutters, so quietly he doesn’t think Seam will hear. But then the cat’s face turns up in a small smile.

Under Seam’s watchful eyes, Jevil keeps practicing.

~*~

Jevil summons a scythe to his hands, and flips it around so the curved blade faces him. There are easier weapons with which to kill himself, but the scythe has been his signature since he first started performing. Nothing would be as fitting.

He sinks the scythe through his chest. The pain is white-hot. He coughs blood, and sinks down to the floor. In moments, a chill steals over him despite the warm, growing puddle of blood that pools around him. He closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable end.

~*~

And then he’s back. Staring at the scythe in his hands, the curved blade polished and clean.

“How…” Had he just imagined going through with it? No, he remembers the bite of the blade too keenly for it to have been just a fantasy.

The Knight’s pale face appears beside him.

“You are past the realm of mortality, fool. Your existence in the void is eternal.”

“No.” His grip tightens on the scythe’s hilt. “ _No_.”

“Still you doubt me?”

Jevil cleaves the Knight’s smirking face in two. The halves of a bone-colored mask fall to the floor, then disappear.

Hundreds of copies of the Knight’s face surround him, thousands of black eyes staring through his soul.

“Naughty child. Do you feel any better?” The faces speak as one.

“Leave me alone!”

“Are you sure that’s wise? Think of Pawner. Isn’t my company better than isolation?”

Jevil swipes out. The scythe glides harmlessly through the row of faces.

“I don’t need you.”

“You will.”

Then the faces are gone, the sudden darkness surrounding him a shock.

Jevil gets what he wants.

He’s alone.

~*~

Presents. Everyone loves presents, right?

Jevil spends a good chunk of time pondering over the perfect gift for Seam. The court magician is a simple soul with few interests, but Jevil ultimately figures out what to get him. He tops his present with a bow and leaves it at Seam’s front door.

Seam arrived late that day in their shared office space in Card Castle. Jevil counts it as a victory—surely, Seam was so busy admiring his present that he lost track of time.

“How has your morning been?” Jevil greets him, twitchy with anticipation.

“Rather strange.”

“A good strange, one hopes!”

“No.” Seam looks alarmingly queasy. “Some sicko left a pile of dead mice on my doorstep.”

Jevil falters. Seam…does not sound happy. He’s ill just at the memory of Jevil’s thoughtful gift.

“I…thought cats liked mice?” He laughs nervously.

Seam levels him with a disbelieving look. “I don’t just eat dead things off the ground, Jevil.”

“Hm. Strange that someone would leave mice out for you, then.” Jevil makes for the door abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Where are you going?” Seam calls after him, confused.

“I have errands to run!” He has to discard the second box of mice he’d planted for Seam in the library.

~*~

“Where’s Seam?”

Jevil looks around the tent, rather put out when he finds only Starwalker present. He’s rigged up several buckets of water above their typical practice area, and he has all intentions of leading the cat under it. It’s well-deserved revenge for last night’s supper, where Seam had swapped all the custard filling of his tarts with glue.

Starwalker lowers the comic he’s reading and shrugs. “He left a while ago? He looked kind of grumpy, come to think of it.”

Frowning, Jevil heads back outside. Does Seam know about the buckets, and is already working on his response?

Jevil asks around, and his fellow performers point him in the general direction of the medical tent, to his mounting confusion.

He’s about to push inside when the circus’ resident physician, a hathy by the name of Betty, steps outside. She brightens upon seeing him, and tries to plant several kisses on his face, which take all his skill to evade.

Betty pouts. “You used to let Betty smooch your cheeks when you were a little imp. What happened to my cute little Jev-Jev?”

Face flushing, Jevil barrels on. “Have you seen Seam?”

“Ah, he hasn’t told you then? You two are all-but glued to each other, I thought it would’ve come up by now.”

“Hasn’t told me what?” Jevil goes to brush past her to check on Seam, when Betty stops him with a tendril.

“Shh. He’s sleeping right now. Betty gave him the good stuff.”

Inexplicably, he feels a twinge of concern. A very, very faint, barely there thing. But still.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“The type of magic dear Seam uses, it wears on the body when used consistently,” Betty explains patiently. “Sometimes it hurts him just keeping himself all together, so Betty gives him some painkillers to sleep it off.”

“There’s no way to fix it?”

“Seam is young yet. If he stopped using body transformation magic, then maybe.” Betty’s smile is sad. “But he is like you. The entertainment comes first.”

Jevil’s gaze flicks back to the closed canvas flap of the tent.

“I want to see him.”

“That’s fine. Quietly, now.”

Jevil slips inside. Betty has doused all the lanterns in the tent save one, leaving it rather dim. There’s a collection of medical supplies on a shelf, haphazardly organized, as well as five cots. All are empty save one. Jevil slowly approaches.

Seam is twisted on his side. Even in sleep, even with the aid of painkillers, his face is still scrunched with pain.

Jevil doesn’t like it.

He spins on his heel and leaves (flees) the tent.

Seam returns to their shared tent well after suppertime. He acts like nothing is wrong; Betty must not have told Seam of Jevil’s visit. He exchanges a greeting with Starwalker. Jevil watches out of the corner of his eye as Seam sinks into his cot with a barely-perceptible wince.

Seam looks over at Jevil with suspicion. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Jevil shrugs.

“What, out of ideas for future pranks?” Seam fishes. “Have I won, then?”

Jevil scoffs, crossing his arms and flopping back on his bed. “As if. I just decided to be the bigger darkner in our dispute.”

Starwalker laughs at that. Jevil glares at him.

Now that he knows what to look for, Seam’s tells are obvious. After a week of back to back performances, Seam moves gingerly, retreats to his cot immediately after dinner. His smiles are more grimaces than anything.

Jevil is the sporting sort. It doesn’t count as a true victory if he triumphs over a Seam too hurt to give his all. So once Jevil recognizes Seam’s energy taking a dip, he finds excuses to halt their prank wars. He even makes sure Seam gets extra sachets of tea at their meals. If Seam ever catches on to what he’s doing and why, he doesn’t say.

~*~

“You’re in a mood today.” Seam observes as Jevil joins him behind the curtains. Out in the big top, the Ringmaster revs up the packed tent for the highlight of the show: their dual performance. Jevil is all but vibrating in place with pent up energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Today’s the day he’s finally going to show them all his new act. He’s told no one, and he’s daydreamed about Seam’s amazed expression every day for the past week.

Jevil just shrugs, brushing off Seam’s probing statement. “Always eager to perform for an adoring crowd.”

Jevil had been spitting mad when Ringaling had first put them together for a joint act, but his hatred of Seam has long since softened to a grudging respect. Their skills and performances build off each other fantastically; the Ringmaster knew what he was doing, putting the two of them together.

“—put your hands together for the Juggling Jevil and the Sensational Seam!”

That’s their cue.

No matter how many times he does this, giddy glee still warms his chest as the crowd roars at his entrance. He takes the briefest moment just to stand there and bask in their adoration—and then the show’s on.

Balanced atop a scythe, which itself is in turn balanced on a giant ball, Jevil begins his juggling act, tossing knives in a circle with easy familiarity. The crowd absolutely loses their minds as Seam detaches his body parts, tossing them up to Jevil one by one, until Jevil is juggling all of him in addition to the blades.

After a time, he throws every piece of Seam up in the air at once, and with a quick pop of magic, his body reforms again.

Then it’s Seam’s turn to launch Jevil into the air. The crowd gasps as he appears to be free-falling, plummeting back to the unforgiving ground. Jevil summons his scythe, and hooks the curved blade around a near-invisible strand of string that Seam has woven into the air. The crowd cheers as Jevil uses his momentum from the fall to spin himself around on the taut string, all with just the lightest of grasps on the snath of his prop.

After several spins, he lets go, and Seam catches him before he hits the ground.

When he’s set back on his feet, Jevil knows it’s finally time. There’s more to their act, but first—Jevil repeats what he practiced last night, in secret. He presses his head down against his body with his palm, and then releases it. His neck, now in the form of a spring, uncoils, making his head bounce up and down. Keeping his eyes open is a mistake—his vision tilts and bobs wildly. It’s too jarring a sensation. He clenches his eyes shut, but nausea still rises in him.

This isn’t quite like last night, when he practiced. He’d felt more in control of it then. The spring keeps going, somehow, adding more loops.

Seam near jumps out of his skin beside him.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hisses frantically, for Jevil’s ears alone.

Jevil can’t take these sensations anymore. He pukes, because his head isn’t where it should be, it’s dragging against his back, and now he’s got vomit dripping down his tights. He hadn’t thought—he didn’t realize it’d be so hard to focus and fix himself again under pressure. He pulls at his magic frantically, but he’s stuck, he’s so disoriented he can’t focus.

And the worst part of it all is that the crowd is _laughing_. At him. To them, this is all entertainment, a part of the act. Look at the dumb incompetent clown, isn’t he so funny?

His head is finally steadied between two paws.

“Come on. We’re getting out of here.” There’s another part of their act they still need to cover, but it’s impossible now. “I can’t carry you like this. But I’ll keep your head steady, alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks. He doesn’t dare nod like this.

“Follow me.” Seam leads him carefully back to the curtains. The great spring that’s replaced his neck bounces and drags along the compact dirt floor as his body stumbles after Seam, like it’s on a leash. It all feels wrong. He thinks about how he’s even breathing right now, and that makes air hitch in his lungs, so he tries very hard then to _not_ think about it.

“You’re up.” Seam tells Starwalker and his tightrope partner, who are waiting in the wings for their turn.

“But—”

“Now!”

They scuttle out to perform. They’ll have to find some way to extend their act an extra fifteen minutes, to make up for Seam and Jevil.

All the noise past the curtains fades to a dull roar. It’s just them here, now.

“I’m going to help you fix this.” Seam promises.

“I—” The word drags out, but that’s as far as he can get. His body keeps screaming _wrong wrong wrong_.

“Don’t try to talk. Now, just. This might hurt a bit.” Seam bunches up the spring—it burns as the coils crush together—and twists his head back around so he’s facing the proper way. “Okay, I’m holding you in position right now. I’m not going to let go of you until you’re back together, so don’t worry about your head springing off again. I’ve got you. Just focus on reforming.”

It’s so hard, and his panic is just making it more difficult still. He’s afraid he’s messed himself up irreparably, but Seam holds him steady as he coaxes him back through the reformation. Eventually, he manages it. Jevil gasps, then gulps in another breath of air, because he can, because it rasps through his throat as it _should_.

“You’re alright now.” Seam says, brushing a hand over Jevil’s reformed throat, tracing the cords that stand out on his neck. He’s reassuring them both. “You’re alright.” It isn’t long, though, before Seam’s relief is supplanted by worried anger. “What were you thinking?”

“I thought I was ready. I did it before—”

“We were supposed to practice it _together_. This is exactly why I didn’t want you trying it alone!”

“I know, okay?” Jevil snaps out. “I know, and I just. I just wanted…” Everyone to be proud of him. _Seam_ to be proud of him.

Tears of exhaustion well to his eyes. He swipes at them, frustrated by his own display of weakness.

“Damn it, Jevil. Come here.”

Seam wraps him in a hug. He’s impossibly soft, and warm. Jevil lets himself melt into the embrace, his head pressed to Seam’s chest. He feels the gentle rumblings of his purrs. He gets Seam’s shirt damp, but his friend doesn’t mind.

~*~

Forget gifts. Gifts are dumb and more complicated than they have to be.

Jevil changes his approach up. He lays the charm on thick, acting as the picture-perfect gentleman. He rushes to hold the door for Seam. Carries his books to and from the castle library. Fetches him lunch at his first complaint of being hungry. Seam is perturbed, but doesn’t deny Jevil his whims. Much better than his first idea, this is.

It all comes to a head one Saturday evening, at the end of another of their joint performances. It’s a bad day for Seam—a bad week—his smiles small and pinched as he pulls himself apart. His performance is lackluster, leaving Jevil to fill in the gaps. The viewing audience never realizes any difference from their usual performances, but they both know.

Still, once they’re backstage, Jevil heaps on the praise.

“Marvelous, my companion.”

But unexpectedly, Seam whirls on him, features twisted in a scowl.

“Would you knock it off already?”

Jevil falters. “W-What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this all of a sudden, but it needs to stop. I’m not some addled old man. I’ve been dealing with this all my life, and I don’t need you to—to try to take care of me, or coddle me, like I’m some invalid.”

No no no, Seam’s misunderstanding everything. He never realized before that Seam’s chronic pain also stings at his pride. And Jevil’s just been making it all worse, insinuating Seam can’t take care of himself, that he needs Jevil’s pity.

“I’m not—”

“We both know I flubbed that performance. Jevil, I.” Seam pauses. “I always trusted you to be a fair critic. What changed?”

“It’s not like that!” Jevil backpedals. “I don’t think any less of you. I just wanted to cheer you up.” He hates seeing Seam like this, defensive and withdrawn and _hurt_.

Seam sighs, dragging a hand down his face. He tries for a smile. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Let’s just go, okay?”

Jevil trails behind him as they walked through the corridors. They cross paths with a cabal of puzzlemakers, Kaard among them.

He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the obvious distance between Jevil and Seam.

_Just tell him_ , Kaard mouths.

Jevil flips him off.

~*~

Not only does King Spade accept the strange man’s words are reliable—he subsequently knights him for his “unparalleled gift to all darkners”. As court magician, Seam oversees the ceremony between king and servant, responsible for weaving magic into the vows of fealty made. Jevil attends the ceremony out of curiosity. The Knight presses a devoted kiss to the king’s knuckles, but somehow Jevil is left with the impression that the Knight is truly the master here.

Jevil tries to intercept the Knight as the ceremony draws to a close, but he doesn’t get the chance; King Spade whisks him away immediately for further talks of their future war.

But Jevil has never been one to give up easily. Any moment he can spare away from his own duties, he spends shadowing the Knight from meeting after meeting.

Today, Jevil watches the Knight leave his quarters. He turns a corner down a hall. Jevil runs after, and pokes his head around the corner. There’s a long hallway before him, with no other doors. But the Knight is gone.

“Fool.”

He startles as the Knight’s voice comes from behind him. He whirls, craning his neck to meet those blank eye sockets. Jevil knows teleportation magic, and that wasn’t it. It’s like the Knight is able to cut and paste himself wherever he wants. Which is, of course, impossible.

“Why do you haunt my steps, child?”

“What _are_ you?” Jevil blurts, giddy that the Knight is _finally_ talking to him. “Are all lightners like you?”

That pulls an amused chuckle from the Knight’s cracked mouth.

“Little fool, I am neither lightner nor darkner, as you call them. I am not a part of your small world. I suppose long ago I could have been called a monster. But I’m beyond such titles now.”

“Are you…God?”

The Knight laughs again. Derisive, this time. “Do you ask that of every being with more knowledge than you?”

“If you’re not some higher being with incredible powers, then how did you learn these tricks?” Jevil persists. “What manner of illusion lets you appear to—to _fold space_?”

“It’s no spell or illusion.” The Knight says. “It looks like I’m folding space, because I am.”

“That’s impossible!”

“For you, as you are now, it is.” The Knight thinks, then offers, “I could teach you. That and more. Your magic has much potential you haven’t been capable of tapping into. But are you sure you wish to learn from me?”

“Yes!” A floating hand presses a finger to his mouth to silence him. Irritation flashes through him—he’s not a child—and he barely resists the urge to bite at the offending limb.

“Think on this with care. The knowledge you seek is not intended for the quotidian person.”

Jevil bats the hand away. He’s far from the ordinary darkner. Whatever’s involved, it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“Teach me.”

The Knight smiles, pleased by his answer. Hands settle on Jevil’s shoulders, pushing him along to keep pace with the Knight as he glides across the floor.

“Then let us begin, immediately.”

~*~

“You want to _what_?”

Jevil gestures helplessly. “You know. That thing you do. Where you stick the thread through a circle.”

 Seam folds his arms. “Needlepoint? You, of all people. Want to do needlepoint.”

“Yes! I discovered last night the ardent, burning passion I had for it. All along, deep down, I’ve really wanted to be a….needlepointist.”

“It’s called being an embroiderer.”

“Yes, that.”

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Unless he’s reading up on magic theory, Jevil hates sitting still for any length of time. But Seam is always stitching away whenever they have a free moment. If Jevil can convey that their interests are similar, that will be enough to get Seam to fall for him, surely.

“Do you even know what a tent stitch is?” He sighs at Jevil’s blank look. “Hold on.”

Seam fetches a pair of canvases encircled by wooden hoops. He hands one over to Jevil. The court jester rolls it around in his hands, inspecting it from every angle, as Seam brings over a case full of needles and threads of many assorted colors.

They spend a good part of an hour together working through the very basics of needlepoint embroidery. Jevil can’t really focus on Seam’s instructions. The subject of their conversation is impossibly dull to him. And he keeps getting distracted by the glint of Seam’s eyes, the way his rasping voice climbs in pitch with his enthusiasm. It’s…It’s cute, and that realization makes Jevil’s insides squirm and twist.

“…get all that?”

Jevil nods along.

“Good. Try to make something on your own, now.”

Seam picks up his hoop. He threads fine green string through a needle and starts working on his own piece for the afternoon.

Jevil eyes his own needle with trepidation. He has no clue what to make—he didn’t think that far through his plan. He selects a simple black thread, and grapples unsuccessfully for several moments with its fringed end, and the needle’s impossibly small eye. He keeps missing the tiny opening and pricking his fingers.

Seam takes pity on him after his fifteenth unsuccessful attempt. He sets his needlepoint to the side and gestures silently for Jevil to hand it over.

Maddeningly, Seam threads it on the first try.

“How?” Jevil demands. “Impossible. What type of magic is this?”

“No magic.” Seam chuckles. “Just years of practice.”

They fall silent again. Jevil shoves the needle through the cloth at random, not really trying to make anything. He steals frequent glances at Seam. He’s traded out the green for yellow, embroidering bright flowers.

“What is this, Jevil?” Seam eventually asks. Jevil looks down at his work. The white cloth is speckled here and there with spots of black.

“It’s, uh. Stars?”

“Not what I meant. What is going on with _you_? Are you dying? Is that it?”

“Aren’t we all? Uhe he he…”

Seam silences Jevil’s nervous laughter with a sharp look.

“You’ve been acting odd lately. Moreso than usual.”

  _Just tell him_.

“It’s nothing! Why would something be going on? You’re imagining things.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

He doesn’t want to hear Seam try to blame himself for Jevil’s awkwardness. He needs to make Seam stop talking, but rather than speak over him, he eschews any common sense he has left and presses his lips overtop Seam’s. When he pulls back Seam is blinking, bewildered.

“Uh…”

“I really, really like you.” Jevil blurts.

And Seam—Seam _laughs_.

Jevil just wants to die. Face aflame, he goes to leave, but freezes as Seam grabs his sleeve. Seam tugs him back down onto the couch. Jevil fixes his gaze down at the cushions, but Seam tilts his chin to make Jevil look at him. Seam captures his lips in a second kiss.

Wait…what?!

“I’m sorry for laughing, just. It’s about damn time.”

“I—you— _what_?”

“I’ve been in love with you for years now, you little fool,” Seam says with fond exasperation. “From the very first time I saw you, I think.”

“Oh.” He’s left inarticulate in the wake of Seam’s easy sincerity.

“I’ve wanted to ask for some time now, but I always had the feeling you weren’t ready yet. What changed?”

“Nothing. It wasn’t anything in particular.” He curls his hand in Seam’s larger one. “I just…I think I’m the same. I think I’ve always loved you, and I’m just now figuring that out. Whenever I’m around you, it feels like I’m home.”

It all really did work out, because Jevil just told him. No matter what, he will _never_ let Kaard know the truth.

Jevil darts in and steals another quick kiss. “Is—Is this alright?”

Seam chuckles. “Yes, love.”

Seam leans back on the couch, tugging Jevil on top of him. They move slowly, eager but tentative, feeling each other out. Jevil peppers Seam’s face with soft kisses, heart ready to fall out of his chest, it’s beating so hard.

Suddenly, he chokes. Something is wedged tight in his throat. He hacks, and spits Seam’s button eye into his palm.

He looks down. Seam is unraveling beneath him, cotton seeping from gaping wounds in his head and chest, trailing from the empty socket of his one eye.

“No, wait—” Jevil frantically grabs at fistfuls of cotton, trying to push them back inside. “Just hold on! I can fix this!”

He tries to use his magic. Nothing happens, and Seam continues to unspool beneath him.

 “No, no, no, no,” Jevil grabs his sewing needle next, but it’s too blunt to pierce through Seam’s body. Jevil presses his hands to the worst of the wounds on Seam’s chest, begging someone, anyone, to save him.

The cotton beneath his hands thickens and darkens to a tar-like black ichor. It sticks to his hands. He pulls them back, but the ichor clings, creeping further up his arms.

The darkness is everywhere, he’s sinking into an endless well of it. It swallows the surface of his skin, drips into his eyes, his mouth, he can’t _breathe_ —

Jevil jerks awake in his prison, gasping for air.

He doesn’t sleep again for a good while.

~*~

He begs for the Knight until his throat is hoarse, but he does not come.

His fear turns to rage. He curses the Knight, says he never wants to see him again.

He curls into a ball, tail winding around his arm.

An ineffable amount of time later, he recants. He didn’t mean it. He was dumb. He doesn’t want the Knight to be angry with him. Just, please. Can he come?

The Knight doesn’t come.

~*~

Jevil has never felt so _alive_.

He’s altered his coding, and now he can tap into a well of magic so deep it makes his previous reserves feel like a puddle.

He all but skips down the dusty road to the cottage he and Seam share, his body buzzing with euphoric levels of magic. With a flick of his tail, cartoonish ducks appear on the grass, waddling around at random. A snap of his fingers, and a herd of show ponies stampede through the forest. There’s no reason for it, save for the fact that he can, that it’s all just so _easy_ now.

“I have something to show you!” Jevil announces, as he lets himself into the house. There’s not an immediate response, so he calls, “Seam?”

Jevil finds him sprawled out on the couch, in an uneasy sleep. Jevil scowls. That’s not good for his back.

Jevil squats down and pokes Seam in the cheek. After three prods he starts to stir.

“Jevil?” Seam blinks sluggishly, voice sleep-thick. Then he jolts up as if he’s been shocked, nearly knocking his head against Jevil’s. “Jevil!”

“Uh, yes?”

“Where the hell have you been? Are you alright? God, I had half the castle guard out looking for you.”

Seam runs his hands along Jevil’s sides, scanning him for any injury. Jevil lets Seam check him over, bemused.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Where have you _been_?”

“I finally got the Knight to speak with me!”

“So you’ve been with him at the castle this whole time? You couldn’t have called?”

“But I came right here after,” Jevil says, still confused by Seam’s worry and frustration. “It’s only been a few hours, did you miss me so terribly?”

Seam gapes at him. “It’s been six _days_ , Jevil.”

“W-What? No, it was…” It hadn’t felt that long to him, but he supposes it could have been. There was so much the Knight had to teach him, after all. Jevil’s still trying to process it all. He feels bad for worrying Seam needlessly, but his guilt is soon crowded out by his excitement. “It doesn’t matter how long it was. Seam, the Knight is incredible!”

“An incredible _asshole_ ,” Seam grumbles.

“Hey, don’t do that. The Knight is—” Teacher, deity, administrator of the game. “—my friend. He was helping me. He’s shown me so much—come, come look!”

Jevil grabs Seam’s hand and hauls him outside.

Some of the ducks have waddled over, and a stray pony nibbles at the grass by their mailbox. Jevil impatiently dismisses his lingering magic so it doesn’t distract from the main show.

“Watch!”

Jevil raises his arms like a conductor before his orchestra, and his magic responds eagerly.

Elephants, first. Horses above, followed by flamingos, ducks, snakes, and mice. A six-tiered carousel of animals, carefully balanced as they whirl in dizzying circles. It’s an enormous output of magic, especially to maintain. But Jevil understands the rules of the games now, and how to break them.

He turns to Seam, then, and drinks in the astonished look on his face.

“This is incredible.” Despite himself, Seam is impressed. “How did you ever manage this?”

“I always could do it. The Knight just showed me how.”

~*~

A thought dawns on him, abruptly. He pulls up Seam’s code. His chronic condition is part of his backstory. The Knight cautioned him against tampering with past memories and history. He wants nothing more than to erase Seam’s pain both now and retroactively, but it’s not worth the overall risk. There’s the possibility the deletion could do Seam mental harm, his mind both remembering the chronic pain and denying the memories exist all at once.

So he can’t outright delete it, but that doesn’t mean Jevil can’t stop it from continuing any further. Jevil adds a new line to Seam’s backstory. Inexplicably, two years into his service to King Spade, Seam’s chronic pain abates entirely.

It’s simple, but incredibly potent. The next morning Seam all but springs out of bed, with an energy to him that Jevil hasn’t seen in years.

The Knight’s teachings were worth it, if only for this.

~*~

Jevil is about to place a lizard on Seam’s cot in retaliation for an earlier prank when his attention is snagged by a small wooden box tucked beneath his bunkmate’s pillow. He sets the lizard down absently, immediately turning his focus.

The box has a normal hinge, a space for a lock but none is put on. Not that a simple lock could stop Jevil regardless, but the ease of access gives him pause. Did Seam deliberately plant the box, knowing Jevil would find it?

Jevil opens the box ever so slowly, ready to spring away at any second. He’s fallen prey to too many of Seam’s stink bomb traps already; it’s next to impossible to wash the stench out of his costume.

His fears are unfounded. All that’s inside is a whole bunch of nothing. There’s bits of string, crumpled streamers and shrunken balloons. Jevil picks up a piece at random, and is surprised when it resonates with him. These are leftover bits of _his_ magic. But why is Seam keeping all this stuff?

There’s something else at the bottom. He digs it out. It’s a stack of photographs. Come to think of it, he does often see Seam fiddling around with one of those crappy disposable cameras. He flips through the photos. Starwalker on the tightrope, a few of Ringaling…but most are of Jevil, taken backstage. He remembers these performances. They’re all times he’d been nervous to show off some new trick in front of the audience.

“Hey!” Seam hisses as he enters their tent, and Jevil scrambles back guiltily, clutching the box to his chest. “That’s private.”

Seam reaches for the box. Jevil wraps his tail around the leg of a cot and propels himself out of the way.

“Give it back!”

“Why do you even have this junk?”

“It’s—look, just give it here!” Seam is frazzled, his tail puffed up and everything.

Seam chases Jevil around the tent for it. Jevil cackles, bouncing all around to evade the nets of string Seam tries to grab him with.

“Too slow, too slow!”

“Damn it, Jevil, would you just—”

“What’s going on in here?”

They freeze. Starwalker takes in the chaotic scene before him. Two of the three cots are upended, and the tent’s support beam is precariously slanted. The lizard Jevil brought in is chewing absently at Seam’s pillow.

Starwalker sighs. “Well, you know you couldn’t have hid it forever, Seam.”

Jevil rounds on him. “Hide what? What is it?”

Seam takes his moment of distraction to snatch the box away at long last.

“What is it what is it what is it?” Jevil bounces on his tail impatiently.

Seam flushes deeply, not speaking.

Starwalker rolls his eyes. “You two are hopeless. Seam here—” The cat looks like he wants to sink through the floor. “—was all boo hoo-y after that whole spring incident—” Jevil winces at the reminder, dragging a hand over his neck. “—so he thought he’d keep a collection of your successes to show them to you the next time you screwed up.”

Jevil shoots Seam an incredulous look. Seam is gripping the little box so hard Jevil’s afraid he’ll break it.

Affection wells up in Jevil. Seam understands like no one else does why his failure bothers him so much. And this…this is exactly what he needs. Jevil takes the box from Seam, and holds it close to his heart.

“Thank you, Seam. I’ll treasure it.”

“Now that that’s over, can I please go to bed?” Starwalker asks, wearily.

“Piss off.” Jevil and Seam say in unison. They grin at each other.

~*~

Jevil is still alone.

Jevil has always been alone.

~*~

He picks a test subject at random. There’s no malice, no ill-intent behind his choice. He beckons over the first soldier he comes across. A rudinn, a sentry looking bored to tears at his guard post. The soldier follows him obediently all the way to the top of one of Card Castle’s smaller spires. Decades ago, when the kings still squabbled over territories, it’d served as an archer’s lookout. Now, it is empty and forgotten. Jevil discovered it months ago, during one of his habitual snoops around the castle, and it’s become a hideaway of his, for whenever he needs to get away from things and just think.

Sensing they’ve arrived at their final destination of the trip, the sentry addresses him.

“So, what did you need me for, sir?”

“Turn around for me, would you?”

The rudinn’s face creases with confusion, but he does as he’s asked.

Jevil summons his scythe. It appears easily, the hilt a familiar weight in his hands.

The sentry grows nervous, about to turn around.

“Jevil, s-sir—?”

Jevil launches at him, embedding the scythe deep in the sentry’s back, severing his spine. He lets out a small, startled gasp of air, and falls forward on his stomach. He’s dead before he hits the ground. Jevil circles around him. His jaw is slack, eyes glazed.

Nausea rises in him, and he barely makes it to the edge of the parapet before he pukes. He wipes his mouth clean with his sleeve before he returns to the sentry. Blood sticks to his shoes.

Now is the moment of truth. Jevil squeezes his eyes shut, his fists clenching by his sides. He does as the Knight taught him, and when he opens his eyes again, there’s a black screen of scrolling code before him. He hunts through the swirl of zeros and ones until he finds this particular rudinn’s code. He resets his numbers, pulling him back to the state he was in minutes ago.

The screen disappears. There’s no transition—one moment the rudinn is motionless on the floor, the next he’s upright again, the scythe nowhere to be seen as he chirps:

“So, what did you need me for, sir?”

Jevil stumbles back. The sentry’s face flickers with alarm, and he rushes forward to steady him.

“You’re mighty pale. Are you alright, sir?”

Jevil can’t help it—he laughs. And laughs, and laughs. The sentry is watching him like he’s snapped, and Jevil thinks he very well might have. The Knight had told him the truth after all. What he’s just done and undone, that is beyond the realm of magic. He can do anything. He can kill everyone in the Dark World, and bring them all back, and no one would ever know. Not that he even wants to—but he _could_. He could conquer the four kingdoms, just to see what would happen. He has no fear of the kings, not when he can so easily manipulate their stats and swat them like insects. Then, whenever he gets bored of the scenario he’s orchestrated, he just has to reset everything back to the baseline. It’s all just a game for him to play.

There’s no point to any choice he makes if he can just undo it. But this is what he wanted, isn’t it? Knowledge that no one else has. No one knows as much about their fabricated world as he does, save the Knight.

“Sir? I’m going to get some help, alright?”

The rudinn edges away from him, both concerned and fearful.

A sudden rage spikes through him. He summons the scythe without a second thought, and lops the sentry’s head clean off. The head rolls, coming to a stop in one corner of the spire.

He slides down against the floor, resting his head against the cool brick. He hugs the scythe to his chest. A small breeze drifts through the air.

He’s not sure how long he sits, thinking, before someone seeks him out. The trap door that leads to the spiraled stairwell below is thrown open. Ah, Seam. They have a performance they’re supposed to be putting on right now.

“Jevil? Are you—” Seam freezes, taking in the scene before him. “What happened here? Did—Did he attack you?”

Seam always thinks so highly of him. Jevil laughs, the sound hollow. Seam rushes to his side, and checks him over for injuries. He’s more alarmed when he finds none.

“Jevil…?”

If they’d ever had real choices, if their meeting wasn’t necessary for the story, he wonders if Seam ever would have loved him.

“Seam, my dearest companion. I’ve been working on a new trick. Would you like to see it?”

“What have you _done_? Why would you ever do something like this?” Seam’s paws fist in the fabric bunched around Jevil’s shoulders.

Jevil rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s nothing I can’t undo.” He’s already located the coding once, so it’s much easier to pick it out a second time. He resets the sentry.

“So, what did you need me for, sir?” He looks between them, surprised to find Seam beside Jevil. “Sirs, I mean. You right snuck up on us, Seam!”

“I need a volunteer.” Jevil says.

Jevil’s tail coils around the rudinn’s leg.

“Wait—!” Seam reaches forward, but he’s too slow; his fingers grasp loosely at the sleeve of the guard’s uniform before Jevil throws the hapless rudinn off the edge of the parapet. There’s a shriek, swallowed by an abrupt thud. Seam rushes over to the rail, looking down to see the rudinn’s crumpled form below.

Jevil giggles, nudging Seam in the side.

“Nice trick, right? I made him **disappear**.”

“Put him back.” Seam demands, roughly. Jevil’s smile falters. Seam grabs him by the shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “I’m not kidding around with you. Bring him _back_.”

“What’s the matter? Aren’t—Aren’t you impressed? This is beyond any illusion we’ve ever achieved before—”

“Now.”

“Fine. Ruin my fun, then.” The menu flickers back into existence, and in moments, the rudinn is saluting them again.

“So, what did you need me for, sir?” He chirps. He looks between them. “Sirs, I mean. You—”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Seam interrupts. “Go back to your post.”

“...Right away, sir!” He marches back down the steps, swinging the door shut behind him. So long as the crown is paying him, he likely doesn’t care what weird orders they give him.

“They don’t remember anything. It leaves no lasting damage. Can’t you just for one minute stop and think about the implications this will have for our performances? The new potential I’ve unlocked? Together, we can do _anything_ we want!”

He can’t understand the expression on Seam’s face.

“The Knight showed you how to do this, didn’t he?”

“What does it matter now? It’s my power. I control it.”

“Oh, Jevil,” Seam says, low and mournful. “What has he done to you?”

Jevil withdraws, spiteful. “You don’t get it. How disappointing.”

“Please. Don’t do this.” Seam kneels, taking Jevil’s face between his paws and pressing their foreheads together. “Please. For me. For us. I’m begging you to…to undo this. Get the Knight to put you back to how you’re supposed to be.”

Anger claws at his chest. He jerks back, out of Seam’s reach.

“This is me! This is everything I ever wanted to be. And you want me to go back to being weak. Pathetic. Nothing, just like you. You’re jealous. You’ve _always_ been jealous of me.”

Seam bows his head in grief. When he raises it again, his eyes are hard with determination.

“You’re not yourself anymore. You wouldn’t want this, you wouldn’t say these things. The Knight has poisoned your mind. If I have to be the one to stop you before you can hurt anyone, I will.”

That startles a laugh out of him. “You? And what can you do? I could erase you from existence. In fact—how do you know I haven’t already done it?” His voice drops, low and threatening. Seam flinches back from him with genuine fear. “Maybe I have. You’d never remember if I did.”

He can do it right now, if he wants. Lines of code stream down in front of him, waiting for his hand.

But…

Manufactured relationship or not, he still cares for Seam. And he’s not ready to scrub that affection clean from his own code.

“Just stay out of my way.” Jevil says instead, before he leaves Seam behind.

~*~

“What will you offer me, little fool?”

Tears spring to his eyes at the sound of another voice beside his own.

“My Knight?” He rasps.

“I gave my company to you freely once before, and you rejected me most thoroughly.”

“Please,” Jevil’s breath hitches. “Please stay.”

The Knight remains cloaked in shadow. When he speaks, his voice reverberates around Jevil—he has no clue where the Knight is hiding.

“And what will you offer me?” The Knight repeats.

He twists behind him as he feels the touch of a ghostly hand whisper over the nape of his neck. But there’s nothing there.

“Anything, please. Anything you want.” Just don’t leave me alone.

Silence hangs still and stagnant in the air, and Jevil fears the Knight has left him once more.

“Please—”

A hand clamps over his mouth. He tugs at it, but it doesn’t budge. There are hands everywhere, like a colony of rats scrabbling over him. Fingers exploring beneath his shirt, nails scratching against the inner flesh of his thighs. One removes his hat and then two sets of hands are carding through the short choppy mess of his hair.

The hands grip his limbs tightly, and drag him over to the cell bars, pressing his face against them, so he can look out at the dungeon forever just beyond grasp.

He opens his mouth to speak, and the hand covering it takes the opportunity to shove inside. He gags as the hand prods and pinches his tongue. It tastes like ash in his mouth. The hand worms too far back, scraping the top of his throat. Jevil slaps at the bars of the cell, trying to communicate—

The hand withdraws, glistening wet with saliva. Jevil retches, spitting bile onto the ground. Thumbs brush along the tears at the rims of his eyes.

His tail lashes wildly, and its soon stopped by two hands, one at the base of his tail, the other at the tip. Fingers hook in his mouth, forcing it open. He breathes harshly.

The Knight’s hands rip his clothing, buttons scattering to be lost forever.

“S-S-Stop. Stop!” He whimpers, a line of drool oozing from his mouth.

“You promised me anything, did you not? You might speak without thinking, but that is not my problem.”

He freezes as a hand squirms beneath his pants to wrap around his flaccid cock.

“You wanted this.” The Knight reminds him, his breath like rot.

Something thick and slippery pushes itself inside him, and Jevil _screams_.

He needs Seam to save him from this, but he’s driven him away in his arrogance, in his stupidity. There’s no one coming to rescue him. His cries of pain are choked off as another dark tendril forces itself inside his mouth, and he can feel the mad beat of the Knight’s pulse. Nails rake against his back as the Knight thrusts inside him.

There’s not an inch of him the Knight leaves unexplored, and with mounting horror Jevil at last understands that this is all that remains for him. The Knight has him now, body and soul, to do whatever he wants, for as long as he wants.

The Knight grunts, and something warm drips down Jevil’s legs.

He’s released, and Jevil lays limply where he’s dropped. There’s no point to moving, no point to anything anymore.

“Why, Why?”

Why him? Why did the Knight orchestrate his downfall? For his amusement? For the game? Or just to keep a pet locked away for him to use for his own pleasure?

He needs to know, he needs to understand.

But the Knight just laughs, and doesn’t answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone reading this: It's not that deep dude
> 
> Me: buT it COUld be THAt deEP


End file.
